My Worst Self
by englishwhaler
Summary: A slight re-envisioning of events in ATLA from the prespective of Azula as she tries to come to terms with the conflict within her. Can she be redeemed?
1. Prologue

**My Worst Self**

by englishwhaler

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**Author's Note**: This is my first chapter of an ATLA fan fiction series motivated by r/thelastairbender's Fan Fiction Tuesday! event. I'll try to have (smaller) updates every other week but I can't promise anything. Hope you guys enjoy and, as always, feedback is always welcome!

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**Prologue**

The sky above the capital city of the Fire Nation burned with the fiery colors of the great comet. The fireball – Sozin's Comet – had returned and was the herald of great things, or so the sages said. Though soothsayers and madmen are often one and the same, the words of the sages had rung true for the day had seen the ascension of Ozai, son of Azulon, from Firelord to Phoenix King. Harnessing the power of the comet, the Phoenix King aimed to bring about the ultimate victory in the war against the Earth Kingdom and take his place as the supreme ruler of a world reforged by fire.

The day was great indeed and should have been one of celebration and jubilance, but the streets of the capital city were deserted. The shops were closed, their doors shut and locked, and no birds sang, nor insect made noise. The air itself was lifeless, the standards of old and new lying limply against their poles. Only the windows of the Royal Palace burned unabashedly.

The palace was a fortress of obsidian towers and sharp protruding talons. It sat amidst the metropolis and towered over it, its tall battlements both majestic and terrifying. Now, though, the walls were cast in hues of somber red and orange and the palisades seemed to sag, pulled downward by an unearthly sorrow. Not even the fire within could lift its heavy walls.

But the fire burned still.

Azula awoke suddenly, startled from a fitful rest. She had barely been sleeping at all. She couldn't sleep, _wouldn't _sleep. She didn't have the time. There was too much to do, too many plans to make, too many traitors to root out, too many – _agh! _Azula put a hand to her temple. It throbbed angrily and she pressed her fingers into the skin, willing the pain to lessen. She had no time for distractions, physical ones particularly.

The headache subsided slightly and Azula rose from the bed that had once belonged to her father. The bed was irritatingly soft, but she would excuse that, for now. She looked around the room. The chambers she occupied were massive. The ceilings were tall and the corridors wide. Expertly crafted pillars wrapped in gilded metal work lined the walkways and stood sentinel above the polished stone floor covered in the finest crimson carpet.

These were her chambers now, her chambers as _Firelord_. She smiled crookedly at the thought and pushed herself off the bed.

The stone was cold beneath her feet and she wondered why. _Oh, yes_. She had let the servants go who would have otherwise stoked the furnaces. _Oh well, good riddance_. She didn't need them, she didn't need anyone. She pressed the soles of her feet harder into the rock and reveled in the discomfort as the chill crept up past her ankles to her calves and then to her thighs. With a breath, a wave of heat swept down her legs, banishing the chill and returning their warmth. She laughed. As if the cold had any power over her; as if _anyone _had any power over her. _Hah_.

Azula tightened the sash of her robe and regarded the dark curtain of hair that had fallen across her face. "Must we be locked in constant battle, hair?" She asked, pushing the mop out of her eyes and back behind her head only to have the strands fall back down. "Ugh, very well. We will have to deal with your disobedience then."

The once princess shuffled down the length of the bedchamber and pushed through a heavy red veil into one of the adjoining rooms. It was similarly gilded and pillared, and covered by rich maroon carpet and curtains. Resting against the far wall was an ornate gold-encased mirror that rose nearly to the ceiling. The mirror was flanked by two red-tasseled lamps that threw long flickering shadows down the room as Azula's image grew larger on the surface of the glass.

Her mouth curled into a frown as she looked at herself, studying her face and the coppery hazel eyes that looked out at her. She scoffed. _This will not do_. Azula grabbed fistfuls of her hair and pulled them backward together, making sure no unruly strands escaped. Taking a ribbon from the table adjacent to the mirror, she wound the silken tie around the base of the bunch until its length had been exhausted and finished the maneuver with knot. _Much better_.

Order having been restored, Azula smiled and began to pull her hand away but couldn't: her finger had snagged within the knot. Her smile withered as she yanked her hand against the ribbon, rage building within her. Her finger came free and Azula let out a frustrated grunt. _Fine, hair, if this is the way you wish to defy me_…Azula grabbed at a pair of scissors and brought them to her bangs, the metal hovering inches from her brow…_you have sealed your own destruction!_

Snip. Locks of raven hair fluttered to the ground and landed at Azula's feet. She grinned, the lines of her face pulling tight and laying plain her exhausted state. _Hah! Your hubris has cost you dearly, hair! _Someone spoke, and Azula's smile vanished.

"What a shame. You always had such beautiful hair."

_Mother_.

Azula scowled . "What are _you _doing here?"

"I didn't want to miss my own daughter's coronation."

"Don't pretend to act proud," Azula snapped. Her mother's face drooped at the reprimand and for the second that Azula looked at her mother's sad eyes she felt…_no! _She brushed the feeling away and her eyes hardened. "I know what you really think of me," she turned her head away, "you think I'm a monster."

"I think you're confused," her mother said, her voice gentle.

_Confused? _No, she wasn't confused. She was Azula, daughter of the Phoenix King, Firelord of the Fire Nation! She was- she was- _bah! _Her headache returned in an instant and in an apathetic rage she let the pain roil through her temple and across her forehead. The pain was nothing to her. _I am Azula…I am Azula…_

"All your life you've used fear to control people..."

Azula looked at her reflection. A heavy frown rested on her lips and the brow that held her thick eyebrows was desperately furrowed. Her nose was scrunched and hard lines stretched underneath her eyes. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes, blazed orange like the sun and were host to a gaze that could melt even platinum. Her eyes…they were her mother's…

She looked back at the other woman. Her face was warm but pleading, her eyes soft but desperate. _Father was right; she is still weak_.

"…like your friends, Mai and Ty Lee."

At the mention of the names, a storm rose within her, one of sorrow and pain and loss, and Azula fought to contain it, to keep the floodgates closed. She clenched her eyes shut, her mouth quivering from the effort. She would not submit herself to those feelings. They were not hers; she was _not _weak!

A wave of anger overtook the storm and she lashed out. "Well what choice did I have?" She ripped herself away from the mirror and stumbled backward, catching herself on the table. She glared down at the floor. "Trust is for fools! Fear is the only reliable way." Azula paused to collect herself but then looked up, a look of resolute satisfaction playing across her face. "Even you fear me."

"No," her mother said, her eyes pained and stalwart. "I love you, Azula."

Azula's legs buckled and she crashed to downward onto her knees, her body shaking from the anger that seemed to seethe out of her every pore. She would have laughed or screamed or cried but the maelstrom of emotions that swirled within her gave her no release. Bitter resentment began to eclipse all the rest and she felt her eyes begin to water. _No! _She rose to her feet and faced the mirror with teeth barred and hands clenched. She was done with this, done with her, _this _woman.

"Azula, my love-"

"_Don't _call me _that_!" Azula spat, hair falling in unkempt strands around her face. "It's a _lie_, it's _always _been a lie!"

"Azula-"

"Why won't you leave me alone? Leave! I am _Firelord_; I _command _you to leave!"

Her mother did not budge.

"Why must you _torment _me?"

"You know the answer, Azula," her mother said softly.

A half-growl, half-hiss escaped through Azula's clenched teeth. "I don't need you; I _haven't _needed you! Father was the one that taught me, the one who cared for me, the one who remained when you deserted us. I've grown _strong _without you!"

Her mother's face grew questioning. "Have you?"

Azula readied another venomous response but stopped mid-thought, her chest heaving and sweat dripping from her brow. _Had she?_

"What? Of course I have. Don't be ridiculous, mother."

Her mother's face remained placid.

"I _am _strong!"

Her mother shook her head. "That strength is an illusion."

Azula stood with her mouth agape, struck speechless by the insult. Despite all of her wit, her mind was suddenly blank and refused to form anything remotely resembling a retort. Into the void rushed the anguish and confusion that simmered beneath her skin and it coiled together like a wolf viper readying to strike. A scream full of rage boiled within her lungs and emerged so fiercely that it made her throat writhe, her vocal cords convulsing until they seemed like they would shred.

Her voice broke and then grew horse but the intensity of the cry did not waver or lessen. The room seemed to shake, cowering at the sound; even the air ran before the noise. Azula's right arm whipped toward the mirror, the palm of her hand open, and a bolt of terrific azure fire came forth and lanced toward the glass. The mass of plasma made contact with the mirror and it shattered, exploding outward in a brilliant cloud of pulverized glass shards.

For a moment, Azula stood panting and she listened only to the sound of her labored breathing, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. She opened her eyes. The broken pieces of the mirror littered the ground and she stared at them until her pulse quieted, expecting any moment for her mother's face to reappear in one of the fragments. The seconds dragged on and her mother did not return. She saw only herself in the glass.

With a twist of her hand, Azula cleared the haze away from the smoking mirror, or at least what remained of it. She had blasted a hole straight through the glass and into the wall; the golden frame was singed black and charred and the wood beneath glowing orange as it smoldered. _Wonderful. _Another motion of her hand cooled the embers and the smoke disappeared altogether.

Azula turned to go; where, she didn't know, but she was exhausted and her back was all knotted and her muscles ached. Maybe she would lie down for a while…but a flash of something caught her eye. She stopped, and turned back. There was nothing there, only the black emptiness where the mirror once stood. Her brow furrowed and she tilted her head slightly. As she did, something glimmered in the dark. _Sword!_

Adrenaline poured into her veins and she somersaulted backward, seeing the blade of the assassin lunge toward her in her mind's eye. She landed, her robe fluttering around her as she assumed a defensive stance, her arms held outward and down with her palms open.

But no assassin charged.

Azula scanned the room, thinking perhaps the coward had taken refuge behind a pillar or one of the curtains. "Come and face me if you dare attack the Firelord!" Her challenge echoed off of the stone columns but no answer came.

With a cry, Azula sent a wave of blue fire away from her toward the edges of the room. The circle of fire engulfed everything in its path, setting on fire curtains and carpet alike. The fires burned until no hiding place remained and still no assailant appeared. Azula frowned.

Muscles relaxed and Azula stood, once again eying the blackness within the mirror. Nothing…but then she saw it, barely catching the shine within the darkness. She rushed forward, determined to catch whatever threat lurked within the murky void. Her feet were light on the stone as she ran, closing the distance in a flash and suddenly she was past the mirror and she fell, stumbling downward.

Azula rolled to recover and sprang to her feet. Somehow, she was inside the mirror. The sheer impossibility of that fact was puzzling, and, confused, she lifted her arm up and called a flame to her hand.

The light ate away the shadows and revealed that within the blackness was something after all: it was a room – a room _behind_ the mirror. _Now, this is interesting…_

She fed the flame and soon the whole room was illuminated in its glow. It was a small room and simply decorated. A few small tapestries depicting landscapes and people she did not know hung on its walls. Chests of various sizes were placed neatly throughout and a small writing desk rested against the furthest wall.

Intrigued, Azula made her way over to the desk. It was of beautiful design, finely made out of dark wood and varnished so that it glittered in the light. _So that's what it was_. The desk was barren save a quill, an empty ink well, and some rolls of parchment. The scrolls by themselves were ordinary, made from typical yellowed paper and fastened with red ribbon, but, as she moved closer, she saw that the scrolls had been placed in front of two small portraits.

Azula moved the flame closer until the ink of the portraits glimmered and then stopped, frozen in place: the portraits were of her…and Zuko. Azula frowned deeply.

As the shock of the discovery subsided, she lit a nearby lamp and grabbed for the scroll in front of her own picture, tearing off the ribbon and unrolling it. Her eyes flittered over the characters…it was her mother's hand, without a doubt, but the words…the words didn't make sense. Her mind raced as she read and re-read each line, trying to understand, trying to hear her mother. Did it really say…?

Her legs gave out and she felt herself falling. She reached for the desk but it was a thousand leagues away and her fingers grasped only air. Time seemed to lose meaning and she watched each flicker of the lamp against the wall as she neared the floor. Her shoulder hit the ground.

_Mother, I…_

Darkness filled her eyes.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was late winter and the trees were in full autumnal bloom, their branches filled to bursting with reddening leaves. In no particular order, and often with the encouragement of the wind, the trees shed their leafy companions, sending them earthward in lazy spirals until they joined the carpet of other seasonal colors on the forest floor. They crinkled underfoot as Azula ran, a wide smile on her face as a cool breeze rustled her hair and carried the sweet scent of the forest into her nose. How wonderful it was to run and be away, away from duties, from class work and lessons, from that dreary place called the palace. The sounds of her family followed behind her, their voices relaxed and happy, but they were a distance off. For all she cared, she was alone; just her and the forest. She was free.

Azula turned into the trees, their tall trunks rising around her and shading her from the low winter sun. It wasn't particularly hot, the sky being crowded with soft clouds, but she appreciated the small change of temperature all the same. On she ran, over leaves and moss and gnarled roots, further and further until she could no longer hear the voices. She stopped, listening. At first she heard only a vacuous silence, her ears deafened by the rush of the wind as she ran, but then, slowly, the noise of the forest crept into her ears. She heard the coarse song of the sparrow raven, its loud squawks ugly and piping; the elegant music of the thrush skylark; the steady string thrum of the grass cricket; the happy gurgle of a nearby stream. The sounds pooled and separated at will, but always was the chorus alive and constant.

She turned to a tree, a large oak with thick branches that stretched toward the sun, and threw her arms around it. The bark was slippery beneath her silk slippers but she leaned her weight into her stance and with a few grunts made her way up the trunk until she reached the nearest branch. Her hands wrapped around it and she pulled herself up higher, scurrying from branch to branch until they became too thin to support her weight. Through a break in the canopy she saw the sun eclipse the thin veil of a cloud and felt its energy as its rays washed over the forest around her. Life was so vibrant here; she could feel it pulsating like the steady rhythm of a steam engine from deep within the ground to high up in the treetops where she stood. She smiled.

A cry rose in the distance. _Had someone called her name?_ Azula tore herself away from the view, worried that her pursuers had closed in. She descended from the canopy rapidly, her footing quickly chosen but nonetheless sure. Reaching the lowest branch, she spied a pile of leaves clustered not far from the base of the trunk. She scrunched her nose in thought, running the calculations in her head. She jumped. The ground came at her more quickly than she had anticipated and for a few brief moments she feared that she had misjudged. But with a satisfying crunch the pile of decaying orange and yellow leaves gave her a soft landing and embraced her, its leafy edges tickling her in welcome. She was overcome by a childish desire to roll around, and so she did.

She laughed and the leaves laughed with her, crackling as she rolled. She felt the warmth of the sun as it fell on her face and against her back. She heard the gentle whispering of the wind and her mother's happy laugh that it carried. They were close now, but she didn't care. She could have rolled on the ground forever. She was content.

The rough skin of a hand touched her face and calmed her movement. She looked up. Her father stood over her, his robes flowing in the breeze like a river caught in the light of dusk. He was smiling. It wasn't a toothy grin but it was a smile, a _warm _smile, all the same. She nuzzled into his strong hand, feeling the lines and calluses with her cheek. He smelled of lotion and perfumes and sweat, a musky scent like pine needles and ancient wood, and she drank it in. This was him, herfather. How she adored him.

The feeling of the hand shifted suddenly.

"Father…" Azula murmured.

"Yes," came her father's response.

Except her father's voice sounded strange. Azula opened her eyes. She was in her bed, in her bedchamber. The room was dark save the weak glow of a single lamp. She almost wished the lamp would go out, the sweet pull of dreamy sleep overwhelming, but her father looked down at her. He was sitting on the side of her bed as he held the lamp.

"Father?"

The man turned slightly, his face dipping into the lamp light, and she saw clearly that his cheekbones were shallow, his jaw rounded, and his nose slightly crooked: this was not her father.

"No, Your Highness," the man said, "but your father sent me. He is waiting in a carriage near the gates."

Azula had always been a bold child, loud and brash when it had suited her, quick to claim what was hers and then some. Fear was not something she often felt, if ever. One day, when she had been very young, younger than she was now, she had stumbled into a den of wolf vipers. The venom of a single wolf viper was said to be enough to kill at least a hundred men, the merest amount capable of paralyzing anyone unfortunate to come into contact with it. Azula had stared at them, the snakes hissing and coiling around each other in response to her intrusion. One of them had reared up toward her, lunging for her neck. Azula had caught the snake by the head and twisted her fingers until she had felt its neck snap. None of the other snakes had bothered her after that.

She had not felt fear then and she wondered why now, here in her dark bedroom with a strange man at her bedside, something close to fear, perhaps the lightest shade of concern, had begun to collect in the back of her mind. She was not powerless; her firebending training was progressing quickly, with her masters even saying they might soon begin to teach her some of the intermediate forms. But the man beside her bed was four times her size and her skills with fire were not yet so great that she felt assured a first strike should the man attempt to restrain her.

"My father sent you? Seems an odd hour to wake me."

"I simply did as I was bidden, princess."

His voice was soft and had a gentle quality to it. She banished the growing sense of unease, quieting her heart, and studied the man for a moment. His face was plain save the crook in his nose, his skin unmarked and unblemished by sun. His shoulders were broad and built, but his posture was withdrawn and formal. As to what color his eyes were, she could not tell for he looked constantly downward, even when he spoke. _He's afraid of me_, she realized. The thought hurt more than she thought it would, but it erased the lingering suspicion from her mind.

Azula nodded and then yawned. "Yes, but must he wake me now?"

The man hesitated, but then said, "Your Lord Father surely knows best, princess." Azula nodded again.

"Very well. Wait for me outside."

The man rose from the bed and bowed deeply before turning and retreating to the hall.

Azula lit some lamps and dressed quickly in their flickering light, donning her usual burnt coral breeches with matching tunic, and choosing a red overtunic with a high collar to pull over her head. She slid her gold-cuffed bracers over her sleeves and smoothed them until they fitted tightly around her forearms. The bracers had been a gift from her father, and she tended them meticulously, always mindful to store them carefully each night after a day's use. She felt like they enhanced her power, focusing her energy as it ran through her arms and into her fingers. She was loath to go out without them.

After pulling on her bull oxen leather boots, the ones that clicked against stone as she walked, she extinguished the lamps and joined the man still waiting in the hall. He did not turn to face her as she emerged but immediately began to walk without so much as a word. Azula followed obediently. She knew the palace fairly well by now but at night, the corridors and many alcoves deserted save the shadow creatures spawned from the swaying lamp, it was rather spooky and she appreciated the company, and the light.

They moved briskly through the eastern wing of the palace, her family's dwelling. It was smaller than the Firelord's but no less ornate with its gilded pillars, statues, and tapestries. The clack of her heels against the floor was carried high up into the vaulted ceiling. She smiled inwardly; how she loved that sound. Passing through a tall iron door, the corridor merged with the main entrance hallway and after a little while more, they came to an even taller door. The man pushed against it with his shoulder and with the groan of creaking metal, it opened, and they emerged into the cool predawn air.

Grass crickets chirped but no birds sang. A flight of stone steps brought them down to the inner wall and they passed through its gate to come to the outer courtyard. The carriage was there as the man had said, a team of komodo rhinos hitched and standing impatiently, their noisy grunts throwing streams of vapor from their nostrils. The man stopped at the gate, his lamp fading in the early morning gloom as she approached the carriage. _Goodbye_.

A group of Imperial Firebenders stood sentry around the carriage, their horned helmets illuminated devilishly by the hazy glow of the carriage lanterns. Azula wanted to steer clear of their towering figures but there was no other way around. The nearest heard her approach and turned, bowing when they recognized her. The door to the carriage cabin was opened and she stepped up and entered.

Her father was sitting against the back wall on the far bench, groomed and posed as always with his flowing robes and immaculately brushed raven hair. He continued to stare out the window and did not regard her as she stood in the doorway. She hesitated, unsure of where to sit. She felt inclined to sit opposite her father but space remained beside him on the bench and she felt the pull of her duty to sit there instead. She did, and the door closed behind her. With a lurch, the carriage began to move and they were underway.

For a long while the carriage compartment was silent and Azula stared out into the inky blackness as the cart bounced and bobbed over the road. The occasional torch or lamp marked their progress but even then it was hard to tell how much time had passed, if any had at all. The first pale rays of sun began to inch over the horizon, and still there was silence. Only the squeak of the carriage wheels and the grunting of the rhinos assured her that she had not gone deaf. The sun rose steadily and revealed a world shrouded in early morning mist. As they went, the light ate away at the haze and finally she could see what had previously been obscured.

A landscape of trees and orchards, rolling hills and farms lay beside the carriage. It was green and lush, and already farmers and their workers were tending to their fields. They were far from the palace, far from the capital, and still her father kept his silent vigil. The farmers' business reminded her of the hour and she felt a yawn coming on, the tendrils of drowsiness spreading down her body. Her eyelids felt heavy and they started to fall, the bobbing of the carriage pulling her downward. How nice it would feel to lean against her father, to close her eyes for a moment, just to rest…

"What is this?"

Azula started, the silence broken and her sleepiness gone. She looked up at her father, scared that he had witnessed her near lapse of consciousness, but he continued to stare ahead. She followed his gaze to the window, to the land passing by. She wanted to say, _What do you mean, 'what is this?'_ but she knew her father would not appreciate such insolence. Still the general nature of the question irked her. This _is a silly question, that is certain_…

"Do you mean the fields, father?"

He nodded slightly, "And what else?"

"The hills?" He nodded again. "The grass, the forests, the orchards?"

"Yes, and what is all of that?"

_I don't know, father, why don't you tell me_, she thought, irritated, unable to see the point of the lesson. "Land?"

Her father shook his head. "It's more than that, Azula. Have you no idea?" He turned to her then, his fiery eyes falling on her and she felt the sudden urge to squirm away from their gaze. Azula dropped her head, resisting the urge to pull at her bracers. "I'm not sure, father…" Her father grunted and turned back toward the window. "This is our birthright," he said. "Do you know what that means?"

Azula had a vague idea but wasn't completely sure so she shook her head. "It is our bloodright," he repeated, "by our birth, it belongs to us, to our family. It is your grandfather's now, but in time it will pass to another."

"To Uncle Iroh?" she piped.

The corner of her father's mouth twitched slightly but he chapped his mouth to smooth it. "As the laws of succession would dictate, yes, your uncle would inherit it. But it belongs to us as well and, perhaps someday, to us completely." Azula didn't fully understand what her father meant by that but accepted it with a meek nod. The carriage plodded along.

"I've been watching you train," her father said.

Azula turned, surprised. She hadn't known; she hadn't seen him. _Father was…watching me?_ She felt heat seep into her cheeks, and quickly turned away, embarrassed for the blush. From her earliest memories, she remembered that her father had been kind enough: an approving nod, a firm hand on her shoulder, a fleeting smile; these had been the extent of his affection. As she had grown, and she was seven years of age now, these instances had dwindled and Azula had craved those small smiles all the more. She felt starved without them, and was driven to obtain them. Her efforts had met only dust and ash, but she continued on, hopeful and persistent that things might change, that things _would_ change. _My patience has been rewarded…_

"Your raw power is…exceptional," Azula's heart leapt at the compliment, "and your progress has been impressive. Your masters have confided that they think you are ready to advance to the intermediate skill set, and I agree. But," he paused and Azula's spirit wavered as the word hung in the air, "I'm going to take personal charge of your training from now on. It would be an utter shame to squander your potential, and I will not see it done. I have…a very specific vision for the future, _our _future." Her father turned to her then, his eyes burning orange. "Would you like that?"

Azula's eyes shimmered with joy and her heart beat out of her chest. She wanted to scream, to jump up and hug her father, but she held back, not wanting to upset him, particularly now, of all times. She swallowed a grin and bowed her head. "I would be deeply honored, father."

Her father's lips curled upward into a grin of flashing white teeth. "Good."

He turned back to the window and the smile withered into a glower. "These people," he said as he looked out at the farmers and groups of merchants that had joined them on the road, "these...peasants, must be guided with a firm hand. There is...weakness in their blood, weakness that cannot go unaddressed. By the divine right of providence, we have been ordained to rule, to command this nation and its people. And we must do so unflinchingly, else we be corrupted ourselves."

_Weakness? Corruption? _Azula's brow furrowed. "But mother says that it is with humility that we must accept our duty, that the people are ours to protect, and that though we are different, we are the same in spirit, and we must endeavor to treat all our subjects with basic respect."

An empty smile sprang to her father's lips. "Your mother has a kind heart, but her compassion has always been her weakness." His eyes shifted back toward the passing travelers. "Our enemies seek to destroy us – you and I, your mother, your brother; our entire family – and would do so eagerly if given the chance. We must never give them quarter, or they would use it against us. Your grandfather knew this, as did your great-grandfather. Your uncle…" He paused and his face hardened. "I fear your uncle does not share the same view. I worry he may be tainted by such weakness."

"But mother-"

"Enough, Azula."

Azula bowed her head, the censure biting deep, even softly spoken as it had been. _You fool, what have you done? _ Like a range of mountains the silence rose between them and the distance, though mere inches, stretched an incalculable length. _You've ruined it_.

But her father spoke. "You need not concern yourself with such matters. You will focus on your training, and I will assist you to that end."

Relief reignited the smoldering embers in her heart, its flames jumping throughout her chest, and she couldn't hold back from smiling, but turned away to conceal it. When she had mastered herself, she said, "Thank you, father."

If he had heard her, he made no sign, instead opening the carriage window and snapping his fingers. The carriage turned abruptly, its wheels groaning as it did, and began its journey back the way it had come. There was no more talk, but Azula was content to sit in silence, brooding over what her father had said, her confusion and doubt only a flickering ghost in the light of the rising sun.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The air rushed hot and gritty down her throat as Azula gulped it into her shuddering lungs. Her heart raced but her mind was clear. She stood, steadying her body and closing her eyes, concentrating on the steady beat in her chest. She balled one hand into a fist and brought it against her stomach, placing the other, palm flat, on top. She waited.

"Again, Azula!"

With a glint of amber her eyes flashed open and her body sprang into motion. Her arms and legs moved with coordinated precision, their movements clean and graceful as she brought them through each stance. Jets of orange flame leapt from her fingers, warming the air around her. The heat washed some of the fatigue from her muscles and her lips spread into a thin smile as she drank in its qualities, reveling in its familiarity. How exhilarating it was to use this part of herself, to call on the ability that she was so intimately bound to. And how deadly it was, like a miniature dragon cradled within her chest: a source of both terrible power and potential self-destruction – she loved it.

The fire's presence fueled her pace and on she went, faster and faster until her limbs were only a blur. After countless repetitions, the physical rhythm reached the peak of its crescendo and she launched herself into a sprint, gathering speed as she ran. She felt her feet leave the ground and she was in the air, slicing through it with practiced ease. At the apex of her flight came the twist and she arched her back, kicking her legs out as her torso twisted, air rushing past. The series of beautifully executed moves was nearly complete, she was almost there, just a few more seconds and she would land on her feet to her father's beaming smile.

But something in her back went rigid. There was no pain but her poise vanished and with it her flexibility, and she faltered. The ground rushed up toward her and she crashed into it. Her body had refused her, again.

For several moments she lay gasping in the dust with muscles burning and tendons strained. "Again!"

She slowly pushed herself up, arms trembling, and tried to stand but her strength was gone and she collapsed back into the dirt, a heap of exhausted limbs and angry disappointment. She could feel her father's disappointed glare on her back and she wanted to cry out, plead that it wasn't her fault, but she knew that would have been a lie. It was her fault entirely; her body simply could not process that airborne turn, and that only made her feel worse.

She heard the rustle of her father's robes as he stood. "You will do better tomorrow."

The words cut into her like a knife and she stared dumbly out at some distant point. After what seemed like a countless time, she realized her father had left, the soft clap of his shoes diminishing into the distance.

She lay on the ground for a little while longer, breathing in the earthy air. She ground her hands into the dirt, letting the sharp grains scratch her skin, her anger and frustration vying for prominence in her mind. The contest proved futile and she was overcome by an enraged, unmoving silence. She willed it to fill her, to form a mass so solid that she was rendered apathetic, numb to any thought. The anger, burning as it was, proved unwilling, and she continued to lie still, embalmed in her blanket of discontent.

The patter of slippers reminded her other audience and a growl rose in her throat. She wished they would just go; she wanted no one here but herself.

"Princess?" a timid voice inquired, "perhaps you would like to try again?"

The audacity of the question made her previously brooding anger flare and she leapt to her feet. "No, I would not," she spat, intent on following with _and get out of my sight!_, but the words caught in her throat. A desire to be away, away from here, filled her and she stormed off instead, leaving the masters bent and red-faced. She hurried through the courtyards, across the stone-lined pathways, under the blossoming plum trees, driven forward by a want, a _need_, to flee. To where, she didn't know, but her stomach gurgled and she was suddenly aware that she was desperately hungry.

She took a path that looped behind the palace and brought her close to the kitchens. The aroma of cooking foods confronted her as she neared and her stomach knotted more intensely, urging her closer. Rows upon rows of freshly-made bread cooled on long pallets, and she swooped close and brought one away, the warmth of the loaf seeping into her palms. She paid no attention to the shocked and curious but mostly apprehensive looks that fell on her back as she walked away.

After a while longer, she found that she had made her way to a small enclosed courtyard, one that she had frequented with her mother – and sometimes her father – when she was younger. It was a peaceful place. A small waterfall gurgled as it filled a pond in the southern corner, the sun shining brilliantly off of its smooth surface. Azula made her way over to it and sat down with a huff in the shade of an overhanging white pine.

She sank her teeth into the bread and reveled in its warm doughy perfection as it melted in her mouth. Her indistinct murmur of pleasure matched the now happy rumbling of her stomach and she took several more bites until the edge of hunger dulled. As she chewed, she took stock of her aching body and wanted nothing more than to sit in cool stillness of the shade. Her moment of tranquility was broken however when a family of turtle ducks glided past, quacking happily in the warmth of the sun. Azula glowered, the interruption only deepening her foul mood. The mother turtle duck saw the look and quickly ushered her babies away, but not before the quacking threatened to induce a headache, irritation crawling along Azula's skin.

She tried to relax, to shut it out, but from the noise emerged her father's voice, his shouts filling her ears. _Again, Azula!_ She ripped into the bread but its taste had turned ashen and she spit it back out. She had been drilling that set since the first rays of light had peaked above the horizon. She had worked hard; she _always_ worked hard, but no matter how much she threw herself into the training, no matter how much she sweated, her father remained hard, unmovable, and overwhelming critical. She gritted her teeth until her jaw hurt. _Couldn't he see I was doing my best!_

Her face flushed and her breath seethed between her teeth. The bracers - her father's gift - suddenly felt like burlap and her arms burned. She reached down and tore them off, one after the other, and threw them to the ground, out of her line of sight. A cry burst through her lips and she clenched her fingers into the now repulsive loaf and threw it toward the retreating group of turtle ducks. To her immediate regret, the loaf smashed into the nearest turtle duckling and sent it tumbling through the water. A hand flew to her mouth.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?"

Azula turned. It was Zuko. She hid her guilt and surprise behind a leer and said quickly, "That's how you feed them, duh."

Zuko looked uncertain. "Can I try?"

Azula eyed him, her expression vacillating between amusement and animosity. The thousand witty replies that normally rested on the edge of her tongue had vanished in her fatigue, making her answer sharp and unplayful. "No, you cannot," she snapped. "I don't have any more bread but even if I did, I doubt you could hit one anyway." A look of crushed dejection rushed into Zuko's face and it looked like he might cry. He turned and walked quickly away, retreating to the opposite end of the pond where he sunk to the ground, head bent.

Sympathy marred with guilt stirred within her and for a moment she wondered if she had been too harsh. Despite all of his annoyance - of which there was plenty, a truly ungodly amount - they were still siblings, of the same blood. This made them close even if she had not the patience nor interest to associate with him outside of what was forced upon her. Spirits knew her mother desired it, and she supposed she had _some_ duty to him. Even so, he had surprised her and, if she was fair to herself, her response had been far less cruel than perhaps it might have been. She shifted uncomfortably at this rationalization, and she imagined her mother's hard look had she been there. It was unworthy of her to think so, and rather selfish and unkind, her mother would have added.

Azula scoffed internally and looked away from Zuko, grabbing at the grass vengefully. It wasn't that she _wanted _to dislike him, it was just…he was incredibly difficult to relate to: she was driven to perfection, and he had not the ambition of a mole sloth. On top of that, he was older and yet held none of the advantages of age. The pace at which he learned was far reduced from her own and he was barely capable of sprouting any amount of flame even after considerable time and effort. On the odd chance that he succeeded, it was often unintentional, to say nothing of his utter lack of understanding of the forms themselves. He was the crown prince, firstborn son of the Firelord; the waste of potential was sickening.

A tremendous splash drew her from her thoughts. The pond was frothing, white ripples undulating across its surface as the turtle ducks clucked in agitation. The opposite shore was empty, her brother nowhere to be seen, but with a spurt and a ragged cough, Zuko emerged from the water, dripping and strewn with slimy weeds. He waded out, muttering about a rock and how it had been too heavy. At first, Azula regarded the scene with curious detachment but as Zuko stood, water spilling off him as he attempted to ring out his shoes, an uncontrollable glee bubbled out of her and she laughed: a genuinely real laugh that was decidedly sympathetic but still very much amused. Zuko mistook the noise for mockery and glared at her through his wet and weed-infested hair; Azula was far too taken by the hilarity of what Zuko had just brought upon himself to even attempt to correct him, so he stalked off, arms flailing as he muttered, a trail of wet splotches on the stone following him.

After a while her laughter died down and she was able to wipe dry her eyes and cheeks, a final chuckle turning into a contented sigh as she lied back onto the soft grass. The creases in her face relaxed and her muscles unknotted as the ground warmed her back. The warmth and whispering of the trees made her drowsy, and she was eagerly lulled into the state of relative ease that settled over her exhausted body. Her eyelids became heavy, and the world blurry and gray, and then she ceased to see it all. The remaining hours of the day slipped by as the sun sank.

She woke shortly before dusk, the horizon pink and hazy. With a yawn, and feeling greatly refreshed, she made her way from the courtyard, past the turtle ducks now firmly asleep as they bobbed gently on the water. The orange lights of the palace winked in the distant twilight, beckoning her closer. Soon she was through the many gates and archways, through the main door flanked by Imperial guards, their armor glowing pale crimson in the fading light. They came to attention at her approach, but she continued past without so much as a look.

She moved slowly down the black-walled corridors, content to linger on happy feelings and forget the earlier turmoil of the day in the flickering light of the lamps. As she neared a smaller junction far from the main corridors, she heard hurried whispering, as if someone was shouting but didn't want to be heard. Curious, and feeling like she had stumbled upon a covert conversation, she stopped and eased herself along the wall toward the voice, a woman's voice.

"…did you think I wouldn't notice? You taking her at odd hours, undoubtedly to skirt my attention?"

"It is my prerogative to oversee the training of my children. Surely you cannot fault me for that," a second voice replied.

"And what of Zuko?" – she now heard that it was her mother – "He adores you and yet you focus all of your attention on Azula. Spirits knows she is talented, and I am so incredibly glad for it, but it is unfair to dote on one and not the other. They love you both so very much."

"That contemptible scrub is beyond my help."

"Ozai, how can you say that? He is your _son_!"

Silence.

"Regardless of their respective prospects," her mother said at last, her voice threatening to thunder, "it is your _duty_ to see after his growth as well, if not as a father then as Firelord. Spirits forbid he would ever need to succeed you."

Another pause, after which her father said, quietly, "I suppose there is some truth in what you say, if only that the honor of the family suffers." Azula could feel her mother's reproachful look from where she was. "Very well. I will take more care."

Her mother gave him a rather firm "Thank you," before they parted, the sound of their shoes reverberating down the corridor in opposite directions.

Azula stayed for a moment listening to the falling patter of their slippers, her mind processing what she had heard. Her father had always been a pillar of unyielding strength and composure, rarely disturbed, if only when disappointed or enraged. To see him act meekly… she didn't know whether she should be shocked or amused. And her mother's words; for her to attempt to improve Zuko's position was all fine and well; it was hardly for Azula to deny him a chance at attempting to fulfill his potential, but to do so by taking something away from _her_, and for her mother to suggest it…it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Quietly, she slipped back down the hallway, retracing the way she had come.

The sun had set fully by the time she returned to the courtyard. The turtle ducks were nestled together, their overlapping wings forming a barrier against the cool night breeze. Grass crickets croaked and water gurgled as she made her way back to the white pine. She found them there, her bracers, rumpled and dusty where she had thrown them. She lifted them from the ground and inspected the dirty fabric, chastising herself as she caressed the silk. She tried as best she could to clean the dirt away, blotting and pressing until the grime eventually gave way under her relentless assault. They weren't clean, not really, but cleaner, and Azula tugged them back on over her arms, satisfied for the moment.

She moved out from under the protection of the pine tree until the soft touch of the grass tickled her ankles. She stopped, the pale light of the moon falling all around her, and breathed in the cool night air. The shushing of the breeze urged all noise to stop, and for a moment it did. She closed her eyes, focusing on her heart, and moved her hands to her stomach. Her eyes opened, and she began again.

* * *

**Author's Afterword**: I apologize for this being so incredibly delayed. On top of life, this chapter proved rather difficult to move through. The content itself wasn't all that troublesome but something was messing with my writer's mojo, if that's a thing, and I guess it hampered my concentration and clarity of mind. I think (hope?) I've moved passed it, so fingers crossed the next one will pass like a dragon devouring a cow. Many thanks for your reading.


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